


OMENS

by vxlkyries



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Avengers are College kids, But then things get weird, Clint is a ghost's bane, Conflict among the group, Creepy, Gen, Haunted Woods and Other Spooky Stuff, Horror, Kind of a slow start, Mystery, Platonic Avengers, Retro Diners, Scary, Secrets bc of course, Someone please give Clint money, Steve is your local art kid, There's some internal struggles, Thor is a foreign exchange student, Tony is the unofficial mom friend, small town, they're all college kids
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-09-16 23:31:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16963557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vxlkyries/pseuds/vxlkyries
Summary: In which Tony Stark, mourning the loss of his parents, decides to reconnect with old friends, in a place riddled with unspoken pleas and untimely ends.▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬❝If we're going to die, can I please have some time to fix my hair before the screaming and running starts? I'd like to look good in my last moments.❞❝Why did I agree to this trip?❞[COLLEGE!AVENGERS meets HORROR AU!]





	1. NEW BEGINNINGS

GOING THROUGH THE STAGES OF GRIEF FIVE TIMES IN AN HOUR WAS EXHAUSTING. If the Olympics had a sport for it, Tony Stark would walk away with a gold medal, finishing so quickly that his opponents would still be registering the shock. Sliding his round spectacles that were far too loose for his face up the bridge of his pointed nose, he entered denial for the sixth time.

His glass of strawberry milkshake was sweating profusely; the water vapor sliding off and forming a small pool on the table. In a way, it represented Tony's current predicament. He had made the terrible decision of wearing a black cardigan with a long sleeved white shirt. In his defense, the drive up to Blackwood was grey skies and cold winds. Upon passing the welcome sign that proudly flaunted all 317 townspeople, the chill had exploded into heat.

Tony frowned and took a sip of his milkshake. It was sickeningly sweet. His parched throat and dry mouth wanted something sour and biting, but he had made a promise to his best friend, James Rhodes, or Rhodey as Tony liked to call him. No more wild parties, no more waking up in strange puddles, no more drinking.

But Rhodey wasn't there to stop Tony. The temptation of ordering a glass of whiskey, was unbearable. The only other patron was a heavy built man with his worn cap pulled down. The man would run a hand down his flushed face, scratch his 3 o'clock shadow and then pick up his beer, and take a slow slip, all the while glancing at Tony with beady eyes before looking away.

Tony was sure the stranger was mocking him.

Tony strummed his fingers on the table. The lights in the diner were an obnoxious purple and pink that swallowed any other color. His hazel eyes couldn't stand it. He rubbed his temples, his eyes closed. The heat and lights were only feeding his headache, and he had nothing to soothe his nerves.

Tony felt like an idiot. 5 more minutes, he thought, and then I'm leaving.

The five minutes turned to twenty, which turned into thirty.

"Fuck it," Tony mumbled, standing up quickly. He had followed the advice of his therapist, and he had heeded Rhodey's encouragement. The trip down memory lane would have to wait until Rhodey was back from his trip, because it wasn't going to work out with them standing him up, and he wasn't about to do it alone.

He was about to move away from the booth, when the door opened with a soft jingle and two people walked inside. The brunette waitress flashed the newcomers a ruby smile, ushering them inside with her sweet voice.

Clint Barton looked exactly how Tony had last seen him two years ago. Clint's unruly dirty blond hair, and sagging posture made him look like he had just rolled out of bed. His drooping oval eyes were smudged and tired --- he looked like he was in dire need of coffee.

"Stark!" Clint's eyes lit up as soon as he spotted Tony. He jogged up, arms held open for a hug that knocked the wind out of Tony's lungs. Ruffling Tony's perfectly gelled hair, Clint grinned. "Never thought I'd be so happy to see you."

"There's still a pink stain on the shirt, man. Throw it out," Tony commented on Clint's obscure band T-Shirt he had spilled a better strawberry milkshake on. He let out a relieved breath, a small smile slipping onto his face as he eyed his friend. "What took you so long?"

Clint jumped onto a red seat, swiped a french fry and dipped it into Tony's milkshake. "Ah, man, Bobbi gave us some issues. Broke down right outside the town's sign."

"That car is a moving deathtrap," a woman's voice complained about the rundown VW Beetle named after Clint's ex. Tony had to do a double take. He was so distracted by Clint, that he had not realized the ever captivating Natasha Romanoff had sauntered up to him. "No hug for me?"

Tony let out a low whistle, pulling his glasses down and appreciatively taking her appearance in, his mood turning playful. Natasha's red locks had grown out, framing her oval face and sharp features in a cherry waterfall that cascaded to her hips.

"Where have you been all my life?"

Natasha's chuckle was rich and gravelly as she linked her arms around Tony's waist, and leaned back to fix him with a keen gaze, her green eyes shinning in the lights. "You look good. Feeling that way too?"

Clint had, in his very Clint fashion, avoided the topic that hung over Tony's head, the voices that he would hear sometimes but never see, the people in his dreams that he could never save. Tony was grateful for Clint's avoidance of it; he hated feeling like he was pitied, and he hated having to confront his emotions.

But of course Natasha, always so worried for all of them, had to see if he was okay, even if it was a subtle question. If it was anyone else, Tony would have dreaded answering. But it was her, and for the first time since it happened, he felt happy.

"Overjoyed now that you're here," Tony answered with a firm nod. Motioning for her to sit down too, Tony pointed at all the carb laden meals on the table. "Two large french fries, one chocolate milkshake, an apple juice --- freshly squeezed, one extra cheesy chicken burger with no tomatoes, and a banana pancake."

Clint gripped the table like an excited kid. Bending down to the burger, he inhaled deeply. "I could kiss you right now."

"By all means."

"Okay, okay, maybe after I've eaten, Stark," Clint said quickly. Taking a bite of the burger, he closed his eyes and nodded his head up and down. "Heaven."

Natasha pointed a salted fry, tipped with ketchup, at Clint. "You're disgusting."

"Eat your nasty banana pancake quietly, Tasha, leave me and my true love alone."

Natasha patted the seat next to her motioning for Tony to sit beside her. He was so dazed by the feeling of being around old friends, and having it feel like nothing had happened, that he didn't realize he looked like an idiot, just standing there. So he sat down quickly, and flashed her gummy smile. "I missed you, and surprisingly, Clint too."

"You have no idea how happy I was when you called," Natasha said. She smoothed a stray strand of Tony's black hair down, just like she had done countless of times before. "Thought I had lost my favorite friend for a while."

"I'm right here," Clint said, mouth open with freshly chewed burger, visibly offended.

"You're in third place, simmer down."

Tony leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes. His headache was subsiding, but the persistent pulse of pain had worn him down. "Know when the others will get here?"

After Clint's loud chewing stopped, Natasha spoke up, "Steve said he's picking up Banner and Thor, so he might get here a bit later."

"And Barnes?" Tony asked, eager to finally have everyone back together.

"He had some stuff to do, should be here by dinner?"

"Speaking of dinner," Clint inserted. He slurped his milkshake loudly, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and sighed happily. "Where are we staying?"

A minute ticked by as Tony hesitated saying the words. Or, one word. Specifically mum. So instead, he said, "Old family home we never used. Bit rundown but should do."

"If it's rundown by Stark standards, place must be a damn mansion with just a smudge of chipped paint."

Clint wasn't too far off. The house was a large cabin, with a driveway that stretched and twisted away from the town and into the deeper parts of the woods. It was charming, in an old fashioned kind of way. The only downside being the overgrown foliage that seemed to claw at the cabin. Tony didn't understand why his parents never used the place.

"We've got time to kill, so why don't we look around town?" Natasha asked, her eyes fixed on Tony. "Have you had a chance to?"

Tony shook his head. He had dreaded it. The point of this trip was to get closure, while reconnecting with his friends. That's why he had chosen her home town for the trip. He didn't realize that being there, without her to show him around and tell him stories of her childhood, would be so hard.

Natasha tossed her hair over her shoulder, looking hopeful. "Well, on our way in, I saw some stores that seemed interesting---"

"Boring," Clint interrupted, his cheeks puffing out, making his already rounded face look like a balloon. "Tasha wants to go to some musty boutique."

Natasha's eyebrows pulled down and her eyes narrowed as she regarded Clint with annoyance. "And? Your choice isn't that much better."

Tony picked up one of Clint's fries. Trepidation fluttered through him. He was walking on thin ice. One could never take sides when it came to Clint and Natasha, nor could one leave them at a standoff. "We'll check out the boutique and wherever you want to go, Clint."

Clint rubbed his sauce stained hands together, a suspicious smile on his face. "Oh, you're going to love the place I want to see."


	2. LONELY ROADS

BUCKY BARNES HAD FELT LIKE A KID ON CHRISTMAS MORNING. He had awoken before the sun could grace the sky, and had rushed a measly scrambled eggs and toast into his stomach that felt far too cluttered to accommodate the meal. His backpack was packed, and he had his best leather jacket on, the one with the least tears. He was ready to see his friends again.

It was only after Bucky had bombarded his best friend since childhood, Steve Rogers, with multiple calls and nervous inquiries about the trip, did he get a panicked call. The Beasely Boys --- a ridiculous name for a bunch of no good punks, Bucky thought --- had started terrorising Theresa.

Theresa worked three jobs, and Bucky knew her from her waitressing one from a downtown pub. She was a sweet girl, hard-working and eager to make a life for herself. However she had the poor luck of falling for one of the Beasely Boys, and her ex wasn't ready to let her go.

So Bucky did what he always did, he jumped onto his bike, gave his friend a quick call telling him he'd be late, and sped off to instill manners into the young ruffians. He was done having them cause trouble.

The confrontation had ended quickly with the Beasley Boys running off, tails between their legs and only a few blue eyes and one bust lip. Bucky's plan was back on track. He would arrive in Blackwood early.

The roads to Blackwood were gravelly and empty, shrouded by countless trees that strained up to meet the clouds. Bucky loved the feeling of an open road, the sharp wind that scratched his skin, the fragile power that could tumble at any moment, and the loneliness to hear his thoughts.

Except, he wasn't alone. The revving of an engine and breaks in the treeline revealed a black Cadillac, just behind the last bend Bucky had taken, following behind.

Bucky's bike lunged forward like a deadly bolt of lightning, teetering dangerously at one point before realigning itself. He would lose the scorned Beasely Boys, he was sure of it.

His heart was like a drum in his chest, heavy thumps that blared in his ears. Bucky didn't want a confrontation, not in Blackwood where his friends were. The Beasley Boys could be dangerous if they were pushed enough, and he wasn't about to risk them hurting one of his own.

After a few nervous minutes, Bucky pulled over to the side of the road and cut the engine. It was quiet, eerily so that his ears ached to hear the chirps of birds or scuttle of bugs and rodents. The wind picked up, a hot lash of air that howled at the trees, the only noise in the silence.

A man stepped out of the woods and onto the middle of the road in slow, stiff strides. He stood a few steps away, his back to Bucky. The wind grew more restless. He turned, revealing a bulging red eye and cut thin lip that was stretched into a smile. It was Martin Beasely.

"Did you think you could fucking do this to my face and get away?" Martin asked, running his hand down the side of his face. His brothers weren't in sight, which led Bucky to believe he took this crusade alone. "I'll break every bone in your body. And then I'll find your little friends and do the same to them."

A spark of anger ignited in Bucky's chest. Bucky wanted to react, but his gut told him not to. Martin was clearly unhinged, and alone out here, anything could happen. So Bucky ignored him, and switched the engine back on.

Martin's bad eye twitched, his good one narrowed at Bucky's bike. "Such a shame what happened to your pal's parents. Bike just like yours had them wiping off the road. Though, they're better off without him now."

Bucky's jaw clenched. He wanted to sock the grin off Martin's face and make him apologize to Tony. But he didn't move, instead he rested his hand above the accelerator, his fingers twitching to press down and speed off before he gave into his anger. He waited, listening to Martin's hoarse laughter.

Martin grew quiet, his head tipped to the side as if he were listening to something. His brown hair was slicked to his forehead with sweat, and his white shirt clung to his chest. His gaze never left Bucky.

It was a horrid stand off. Bucky knew he should leave but he couldn't will himself to, the urge to get off his bike and end things was too strong. It was a shrill scream that broke the spell and had Bucky looking away from Martin to a flock of birds flying overhead.

The bike lurched forward, and Bucky spared one last look at Martin. The man's face had contorted painfully in anger, but instead of pursuing Bucky, Martin stepped back into the path he came, eyes not once leaving Bucky's retreating form until he was swallowed by the trees.

As Bucky shot down the road to the town, he'd stall his bike from time to time, and listen. The Cadillac never followed. It seemed Martin had returned home, though Bucky couldn't shake the feeling of being watched.

The feeling intensified when Bucky's bike slowed down onto the smoothe tar of the town's main road. He looked back, and just barely, could he see a figure. The heat of a hateful gaze on his skin was unmistakable.


	3. TREASURE

EXPECTATIONS ARE EITHER GUTTED, OR WELCOMED WARMLY. Rarely are they met with a sharp hit of awe and wonder; something your imagination had not conjured as possible.

Clint Barton's expectation was shaken and wooed by a small, musty gift shop that was on the brink of liquidation. When he had drove passed the dingy sign, he had expected to find some old knick knacks to collect, maybe a scratched up vinyl at best.

See, Clint liked collecting things. It didn't really matter if there was no value. He enjoyed having a variety of items in different shapes and colors that brought him joy. He had a treasure trove of comic books, movie cassettes, beaded bracelets, and lopsided coffee mugs.

His friends always told him to throw it out, that his small one bedroom apartment's floor could no longer be seen. He always told them they just couldn't appreciate his collections. They thought he had an issue. In reality, it wasn't all bad. It just presented itself as so due to Clint's aversion to clean.

The gift shop was like a dragon's den, making his treasures look like scraps out of a dumpster. There were weathered maps, historic and macabre books, herbal concoctions and snake tonics, dusty dolls with one eye, strange figurines and so much more that Clint was lightheaded at the thought of rummaging through it all.

Hidden behind an old jewelry box and covered in dust, Clint found the best trinket of all. It wasn't particularly eye catching per se. The only thing that had drawn his attention to it was the tattered ribbon book mark, red as a blooming rose, that stuck out sorely among the drab greys and blacks. The book itself was bound in old leather, held together by a wrinkled spine. Its insides were torn, some whole chapters had been ripped out, and the remaining pages were stained brown.

Clint wasn't a big fan of reading. His friend Bruce, and fellow ghost hunter, was. Despite being a skeptic, he enjoyed their searches for the unknown. Blackwood was an old town with many secrets and sudden deaths; prime hunting grounds. The History of Blackwood, a book brimming with all sorts of information and old maps, made an excellent tour guide.

After a few awkward hops and putting back fallen items, Clint had navigated his way to the cashier, the book held closely to his chest. "Hi, excuse me, but how much is this?"

The elderly woman turned her head away from the window to Clint. Her hair was collected on top of her head, a white beehive that wobbled with the shift of her head. She held out a bony hand, her skin wrinkly and speckled with sun spots. "Hand it here."

When Clint handed her the book, she did not look at it. Her stare was empty and glassy as she regarded a brown wall.

After running her hand over the front, spine, and finally the back of the book, she said in a course voice, "Eight dollars."

Clint bobbed his head up and down, relieved that it wasn't an antique and in the double digit range. He shoved his hands into his baggy pockets, rummaging for money, and frowned when his fingers met the coolness of coins. "Do you accept change?"

The woman pointed a thin finger at a sign on the wall behind the counter that read in printed cursive, "Cash only. No cards. Change is limited to 5 pieces."

Clint would have been okay with leaving the book behind, but he thought it would be a nice gift to Bruce. Tony was like glue, he kept the group together. When he shut himself away, they all fell apart. Sure, Clint and Bruce texted from time to time, but it wasn't the same as before. Their lives took different routes, and their silly ghost hunting had been locked away.

But things had changed, and it was just like old times again.

"Do you accept trades?" Clint asked hopefully as he slowly slid the book across the counter towards him. "What if I throw in something and you lower the price?"

The old woman croaked out a chortle, though to Clint's ears it sounded like a pained wheeze. "And what would you offer me? Lint? Pay or get out."

"Clint, do you need help?" Natasha asked, her hands stilled on an simple gold chain necklace with a faux gem ---Clint couldn't tell if it was real or not.

"No, I'm fine. Thank you."

"What happened to the $20 I gave you last week?"

Clint sighed heavily and patted his stomach. "Did you know groceries are seriously expensive?"

"If only you got a better job. You can barely meet your rent." Natasha sighed and handed the necklace to Tony, who examined it in the light, nodding quietly to himself. "You work to the bone, and for what?"

Natasha sang the same tune every time Clint's love-hate relationship with money was presented. She meant well, always, but Clint hated having her worry.

"Tasha, baby, if I had your calves, I'd be a part time model too," Clint said, shuffling from one foot to the other. "Sadly, my bodacious butt has me severely disadvantaged."

Tony sauntered over, dangling the necklace from one finger. "I'll pay, my treat."

"About time," the old woman muttered to herself and slapped the counter. She motioned for Tony to hurry up. "You've got your mother's spirit, equally as painful in my ass."

The room, which was already quiet, seemed to be sucked into a void where even Clint's heartbeat couldn't be heard. Natasha shot him a quizzical look and he shrugged.

"You knew my mother?" Tony asked, his eyebrows slightly raised.

"I damn nearly raised her before she ran off with my money," the old woman grumbled, though her words were soft and empty of malice. She patted the cash register. "She helped me around here. In case you haven't noticed, I'm blind as a bat."

The next moments were spent in silence as the items were rung up and paid for. Clint could see the questions that ran across Tony's pinched face, unsure what to ask or say.

"Small town, huh?" Clint offered in hope to ease the tension. Natasha rubbed her head with a sigh at his comment and looked away. "Y'know."

The old woman scowled. "You always ask dumbass questions?"

"No, ma'am. Sometimes. Sorry."

The growl of an engine dying outside the shop drew everyone's attention to the window. Bucky hopped off his bike, and removed his helmet. He glanced around warily, before spotting everyone and walking into the shop.

"Thank God," Clint whispered, shooting the woman a quick smile and then smacking himself. She couldn't see him. Idiot, he thought before rushing to greet his friend.


	4. ANGUISH

BLACKWOOD LOOKED LIKE A GHOST TOWN. The main road dissected the core of the town into two distinct sections, with a few shops on either side. The most predominant buildings were the church, and the school. Both seemed empty due to their incorrigible quiet.

The stretch of tar and cement was empty of life. Natasha could not see any townspeople besides the cashiers in their respective shops. Clint and Bucky were jogging towards a small restaurant, shoving and hollering at each other like two kids just given their allowance, in their quest to seize dinner for the group. Other than them, there was no one out.

Perhaps it was the scalding heat that battered down onto the town. Natasha ran a hand through her sweat slicked hair, shaking it lightly to cool herself. Yes, she thought, it's probably the heat. It wouldn't be a surprise if many of the townspeople were huddled indoors sipping iced tea and fanning themselves with the morning newspaper.

"Hey, Tasha?" Tony's voice questioned, close to her shoulder. The sleeves of his shirt were folded up, and his cardigan had been thrown into the backseat of his car. Despite the beads of sweat that trickled down his face, Natasha thought he looked like he had just stepped out of some fancy magazine. "Don't you think it was strange that a blind woman knew who I was?"

Natasha hadn't questioned it. Maria Stark was from Blackwood, and small towns had rife gossip that festered like a plague. It wouldn't be unusual for people to have kept tabs on her life long after she left. "I just assumed she might've heard your voice from an old broadcast of Howard's dinner galas."

Tony let out a drawn out sigh, and nodded his head. "Right. Let's finish up before those idiots get back."

Tony marched into the dimly lit grocery store, and Natasha slowly followed behind. Her limbs were sluggish, as if she were wading in quicksand. Heat simmered beneath her skin, making her feel like she was in an oven. In an effort to cool down, Natasha had removed the extra layers from her dress – jacket, stockings, boots that she switched for sandals. But, despite that, she felt like she was wearing a dozen sweaters.

When Natasha's foot passed the threshold of the store, a sharp pain struck her head, making the world spin around her and her eyesight darken. She swayed on her feet before clutching the wall of the entrance to steady her weak body. It felt like something had cracked her skull.

Tony had retraced his steps and encased a hand around her waist, the other under her arm to prop her up. "Hey, are you okay? Tasha, do you need to sit down?"

A shaky breath escaped Natasha's lips as she took a few moments to collect herself. The pain's arrival was worse than what it actually was. It had muted down a fraction, seeping to all parts of her head and neck. Dreadful, but bearable.

"Really bad migraine, I think," Natasha said, using Tony to hoist herself up into a full standing position. She had to squint; the dying, yellow lights of the store seemed too bright for her eyes.

"Can you stand on your own?" Tony asked, his eyes emanating worry. When Natasha nodded, he hesitantly took a step back. "I'm going to quickly check if they have some Asprin or Ibruprofen, and I'll be right back, okay?"

Tony wasn't underestimating how quick he said he'd be. Natasha watched him sprint off to grab a bottle of water and then book it to the counter where he forcefully demanded medication. Then he was back by her side, holding out am already uncapped bottle, which she took along with the tablet, in a long, cold swig.

"Thanks mom," Natasha said jokingly but earnestly. "Now don't worry about me; the meds will kick in soon. Let's get what we need."

Tony frowned, his eyes darting from her to over her shoulder. "Are you sure? You can wait in the car? Or better yet, the diner? I'll order you something to drink. I think that's better."

Natasha was stubborn, painfully so. As expected, she held her head up, even though the ache in her neck screamed at her not to, and strode past to grab a shopping basket. "C'mon, we haven't got all day."

A mumble and sigh of defeat fell from Tony's lips as he walked up to her and took the basket. "What do we need? Beers for Thor, probably."

"Doritos, fruit roll ups, toaster strudels, box of cookies, popcorn – and that's just for Clint."

Tony's nose crinkled up in disgust. "Still late night binge eating, huh?"

"I swear, he's like a raccoon," Natasha complained, tossing a bag of pretzels into the basket. "Bruce likes those nut mixes, right? With the sunflower seeds, cashews, pecans, and all of that?"

Tony nodded, examining some boxes of cereal and then placing it into the basket. "Right, and Steve's crazy for Twinkies. Still bothers me with how quick he can eat a whole box of em. Oh, and let's get him some oats or something."

Natasha stilled in her tracks. Her stomach was twisting and turning, trapped in a too small place. She took a deep breath in, trying to ignore the nausea. "Don't forget we need coffee for Clint and Bucky, and tea for Bruce, as well as chocolate milk for Thor."

"You know, my fond memories of you guys didn't really include bleeding my bank account dry."

Natasha punched his shoulder.

"Ow, I'm not a piggy bank." A slow grin slipped onto his face. "Or maybe I am. Punch me harder, see if I drop a few coins."

The cashier, a robust man with a gleaming bald head, sat up straighter in his seat, his hooded eyes strained to see over the aisles at Tony to glare at him. Natasha had seen his name tag, 'Bert'.

"You're so weird," Natasha whispered to Tony. She wanted to laugh at his silly antics, but felt like the store was closing in on her, crushing her insides and setting her on fire. She had the urge to stick her head, and then her whole body, into the freezers to cool off. "I'm going to go get another basket and get the drinks."

"Wait," Tony said quickly. He scratched his chin as he winked at Bert. "Should we get, oh you know, some normal food stuff? I haven't set an egg on fire in three years, which is an improvement."

Natasha groaned into her hands. The thought of the boys attempting to cook meals made her already sick state worsen, but she knew they couldn't live off chips and chocolates for the next couple of days. "Sure, get some eggs. Microwave food is highly recommended. Maybe some pasta and that ready mix sauce? Cheese, milk for cereal, bread. Basics are good."

"One more thing," Tony hastily said before she could walk off, "Amenities. Stuff like soap, and toothpaste, deodorant – I highly doubt Thor or Clint packed any, as per usual."

"I mean, you put them into that bad habit. Always babying them."

"You're right," Tony frowned. "Look at me; I'm a mother buying basic hygiene products for her two overgrown sons. They should be buying me things."

Natasha patted his shoulder slightly. "Steve has sensitive teeth, Thor likes peppermint flavored toothpaste."

"Clint will use literally anything – though he does appreciate a good clay mask. Bucky likes voluminising shampoo," Tony added, tapping his chin as he made mental notes.

Natasha cocked her head to the side in thought, and to alleviate the strain on her neck. "Bruce thinks the 'for men – smell like a sweaty hike' products are a sham. He likes the scrubs for women. I wouldn't mind some bubble bath – lavender or rosemary scented."

"You too?" Tony shook his head, but the smile on his face was unmistakable. He waved his hand in the air dismissively. "Get me some Dr Pepper while you're getting the drinks."

Then Natasha was off across the chipped white tiles on wobbly legs, stopping once she reached the freezers. Her hand wrapped around the door, eyes locked on a row of beers and mind churning to see what would be best for Thor.

The sides of Natasha's mouth dipped down as she stared at her sullen and pale reflection. The woman reflecting on the frosted door seemed foreign to her. A minute ticked by as she eyed herself. What was so unsettling about the woman reflecting back at her?

Natasha blinked. The air felt stuffy, and the lights flickered, making her feel like she was trapped in some alternate space. There, yet far away. Slowly, her hand pulled on the door, all the while maintaining a hawk like gaze on her reflection.

The door was partially opened when a woman appeared next to her reflection. She had dirty blonde hair that stuck out haphazardly around her heart shaped face that was flushed and streaked black, icy blue eyes that cried in desperation, and a pale mouth twisted in anguish.

Natasha thought the woman was injured. The woman's hand had clasped down firmly on Natasha's shoulder to support herself and the other shielded her stomach. A strong scent of smoke from a ravenous fire reeked off of her and into Natasha's lungs.

Worried, Natasha spun around to face her, only for her eyes to meet an empty aisle. Tony was eyeing some pastries two aisles away and Bert was flipping through a newspaper. No one else was in the store.

It must be the migraine, Natasha thought, though she couldn't brush off the persistent urge to find the woman and see if she was alright.

Hastily, Natasha grabbed a couple beers and other drinks into the basket and made her way back to Tony. He gave her a skeptical look and placed the back of his palm against her forehead. "Seems like you're coming down with something."

Natasha could only nod. She felt restless and caged in. Talking seemed like too much of an effort. The seething heat didn't help her condition much, either.

Tony took the basket from her and walked over to Bert. Natasha used that as her cue to step outside and get some fresh air. Maybe the scent of pines and flowers would calm her down and soothe her mind.

But as soon as Natasha stepped onto the sidewalk, a woman's sobbing could be heard. It was shrill, right beside Natasha's ear. Her head shot around, eyes frantically searching the empty street for anyone.

Natasha glanced back at Tony, who was just a few steps away, paying at the counter in the store. He idly chatted with Bert, unaware.

I'm okay, I'm okay, the words chanted over and over in Natasha's mind. Except, she didn't feel okay.

She felt haunted.


	5. OH, DEER

ROADTRIPS ARE VIVID JOURNEYS TO FORGETFUL DESTINATIONS. That's why Thor loved them so much. Hours spent with friends, laughing and stopping at curious shops, sharing stories and being merry.

Though this particular roadtrip had Thor's senses dulled and his mind stabbed with utter boredom. Bruce, who was sat beside him, had shoved his nose into a book with big words and rambling meanings. Steve had a steel grip on the steering wheel, and an unyielding stare on the barren road.

In the five hour drive, they had only stopped once. For fuel, a bathroom break, and snack resupply all wrapped up at a dingy rest stop. It was disastrous. Thor could not hunt down the snacks he wanted --- the options were mouldy and swatted by flies. Bruce had went missing for ten minutes, until he was found to be locked inside a stall, the door wedged shut from the outside.

Since then, Steve was relentless on arriving to the hometown of Tony's mother before dinner. The quartz skies were peeling away to a bruised purple, and Steve said he did not want to arrive in the thick darkness of night. Agreement on that was unanimous among the trio.

Originally, their plan was to arrive by lunch. Though they had a slow start due to unforseen circumstances---taking a wrong turn and getting lost--- which set them behind the clock. They were supposed to bypass traffic, but ended caught in the middle of it all.

Thor was defeated. Enthusiasm drained, and barred from fun, he had resigned himself to resting his head below a window, his legs stretched over Bruce's lap. The tires would strain over a bump every now and then, and his head would jostle against the panel with a hard knock. Still, he would not move, too disgruntled to care.

"What time is it?" Thor asked after his head bobbed back down onto the panel. Faint stars would peak through auburn leaves as the van struggled along, winking at him before disappearing behind another branch. "It must be around dinner, right?"

"Six-thirty," Bruce answered after briskly checking the watch on his wrist. He turned a page from his book, his eyes shooting across it hungrily. "Out of snacks already?"

Thor sat up straight and stretched. His long limbs poppped like muted firecrackers as he worked out the kinks, a satisfying feeling to him, and a teeth grinding noise for Bruce. "No, I need to call Hela."

His sister, Hela, was a magnate that rivaled even their father's iron reign in the business world. She crushed her enemies, dominated the field, and lapped up power like it was a cool drink on a hot day. An empire does not grow itself, and she wanted hers to be the biggest and most grandest of all.

After pinching his phone out from his far too small pocket, Thor dialed his sister. Steve lowered the music of some generic love song, and Thor met his eyes in the rearview mirror, nodding a thanks.

Hela answered on the first ring. "Have you reached yet?"

Like a child on the brink of a tantrum, Thor whined out a, "No, but we did pass the sign of the town. That was twenty minutes ago."

She was silent for a moment. "You passed the town sign and yet nothing?"

Thor tapped his jaw, his neck craned to to gaze forlonly out the window. "We've seen a few dirt driveways that we figure leads to farmhouses, but not the town itself."

"Oh, you weren't kidding when you said small town," she said. Thor could hear the distaste in her voice. "Give it another ten minutes."

"Am I too late and you've already eaten?" Thor questioned. Hela's path was a lonely one filled with missed meals and long hours in her office. Thor had made it a tradition to bring her takeout dinners and lunches to her office, or keep her company via a call on the days he couldn't.

"No, my assistant just brought me some Risotto," she answered. Thor could hear the shuffling of papers being put away and the crackle of foil that he assumed was the meal's container. "Have you spoken to Mother? Loki's gotten himself into more trouble."

Thor frowned. His younger brother was four years younger than him and desperate to leave their parents and join him and their sister. But if Loki kept up his antics, their father would ban him from doing so. Thor was only allowed to move away with Hela because he had grown too spoiled and pampered---their father wanted him to toughen up. Though his punishment would not be the same for Loki's behavior.

"What's it this time?" Thor questioned. He knew there was no talking Loki out of anything. The boy craved mischief.

"I couldn't bother to find out the details," Hela sighed in annoyance. "He got himself into it, he can get himself out. All he's doing is making Mother sick, and angering the old bastard. We can't keep making excuses for him."

Thor felt bad for his sister. Their father had raised her to be as cutthroat and dangerous as he once was to take over their family businesses. But along the way, Odin had a change of heart and deemed his daughter too frigid and immoral, not once realizing she was like that because of him. He had forsaken what he had created.

Despite it all, she had still taken Thor under her wing. The move at first to a new high school and country was daunting, but Hela was there to urge him on, her strict words were out of sisterly love. So he managed at first, then thrived, meeting his friends and being viewed as Thor and not the son of Odin was a refreshing change. Even with Loki, Hela was already sussing out the best universities for him and making preparations for him to live with her.

"I'll talk to him," Thor assured, though he knew the call with Loki would be full of empty promises from his brother. "How was your day? How many people did you fire? Nancy from accounting is nice, you should keep her on."

"It seems people keep forgetting who I am," she spewed, riled up, and Thor instantly knew it was a bad day. "But I'm the bad guy when I reign them in line? I'm here to run a business not---

"Deer!"

Thor shifted his gaze to Bruce. "Yes?"

"No, deer!"

The van skidded to a forceful halt that had the phone being knocked from Thor's hand and Bruce's book launching into the air. Instinctively, Thor's hand shot out to defend his smaller friend from impact, as his own body was painfully yanked back by the seatbelt.

The headlights seared onto the mass of a frozen deer, it's eyes hypnotized by the brightness. It did not move from where it stood in the middle of the road, carved out by light in the darkened surroundings.

"Oh, deer," Thor said as he eyed it curiously. He rubbed his chest, feeling his racing heart beneath. "You meant that deer."

"Is everyone okay?" Steve called back. His knuckles were taut against his skin as held onto the steering wheel, gasping for short bursts of air. Thor worried that he was suffering an asthma attack, though Steve made no move for his inhaler.

"We're fine. Are you?" Thor unbuckled his seatbelt and stretched to fit his body between the passenger seat and the drivers seat. He clamped down on Steve's lanky shoulders and shook him gently. "Good reflexes."

"What're we going to do?" Bruce was searching the floor of the car, picking up Thor's phone and tossing it onto the seat and then moving on to find his book. "It's not moving from the road."

"Try hooting at it? It seems as shocked as we are," Thor offered to Steve who nodded but made no move. Thor waited a few moments so Steve could collect himself and then added, "Just put your hand on the hooter... and push. Any moment now."

A soft knocking echoed from the metal outside the van. Thor's head peered out the passenger window to find a man coated in a pin striped suit that was navy blue and glossy under the light of the towering moon. The man's skin was remarkably smoothe like porclein, stretched over a squared jaw and patrician nose that protruded like a beak. Thor eyed him warily, suspicious and cautious. Where had this man come from?

"Need some help?" the man asked in a deep voice that sounded off rumbling from his skinny build.

Steve and Bruce resembled the deer in front of them as their eyes locked onto the stranger, unspeaking. Thor knew Steve was caught at an impasse: offer the benefit of the doubt, or be on guard. Whereas Bruce was neither, too confused to process the situation.

Thor inched the window down, just enough so his voice could carry out, taking charge of the situation. "If you can get the deer to move, be our guest. We won't stop you."

"My name's Bernard, pleasure to make your acquaintance." His dark eyebrows rose up as his mouth twisted upwards into a smile that seemed practiced. "Cut the lights, will you? It shakes em out of their daze."

Thor glanced at Steve and nodded his head. The lights cut off, and darkness swarmed them. Faintly, Thor could see the deer take a few steps back and tilt it's head. It seemed to have regained itself, then it froze again, it's barely visible face pointed in the direction of Bernard. A minute passed, and Bernard shifted, just a gentle sway of his posture. Then the deer was bounding away into the thicket, crashing through the bushes until it disappeared.

"Thank you," Steve said wholeheartedly, visibly more relaxed. He switched the lights back on. "I was caught off guard, didn't know what to do."

"After a while you get used to em running up." Bernard pinched out a white handkerchief and patted his forehead. "I don't mean to impose, but would it be too much of me to ask for a ride? It's so dark, and I've been walking for a while now."

Thor's eyes met Steve's as they wordlessly tried to come to a decision. Bernard was on his own. It would be cruel to leave him in the thickness of night and heat after he helped. Besides, there was three of them, and one of him. On the other hand, they did not trust him, nor did they know his true motives.

"Sure! Jump in," Bruce's voice called eagerly. He gripped the back of Steve's seat as his head peered passed Thor. "Where are you heading?"

Thor and Steve squinted at each other. Bruce was too gullible, too susceptible to acts of kindness.

Bernard tried to open the door, but it was locked. Thor slowly strained his body to the door and unlocked it. Bernard smiled. This time it was more genuine.

"Blackwood, and I'm guessing you boys are too?" Bernard placed a black briefcase onto the floor of the van and then climbed in. He hooked his seatbelt on. "Business, or pleasure?"

Bruce's shoulders inflated and deflated in a small shrug. "Pleasure, I guess. How about you?"

"Business," Bernard replied. Thor sniffed. He smelled obnoxiously of musk, so much so that it almost hid the underlying smell of rotten eggs and soured milk beneath the heady scent. "I'm a manager, of sorts. I help the townsfolk manage their business as a pleasure, and turn their pleasures into businesses."

"Sounds fancy," Bruce replied, his eyes studying the briefcase. Steve had switched the engine back on, and the tires were trudging across the stone littered road. "How does that work?"

"Yeah," Thor added, curious. "How does that work?"

"I can't divulge much details, I'm afraid." Bernard dusted his sleeves. "My boss makes the magic, I just maintain it."

"So what, loan shark?" Thor was still positioned between Bernard and Steve, with Bruce beside him, acting like a wall of protection.

Bernard clicked his tongue. "I assure you, our practice is legal."

"But the gist of it is there? Give people money, help them make a business, collect your share?"

Bernard bent down and opened his briefcase. The inside was stuffed with so many papers that Thor was uncertain how he managed to close it in the first place.

Bernard slid out a white paper and handed it to Thor, who passed it to Bruce. "A contract by two consenting parties who acknowledges our mutual benefits. It's more of a partnership, or an investor if you will." Bruce attempted to hand the paper back but Bernard held up a hand in dismissal. "Keep it. Maybe one day you'd like to get into business."

The conversation died after that. Steve had turned the volume back up to cut through the silence, and Bernard hummed along to the song. Thor remained fixed in his spot, while Bruce had went back to reading his book, unaware of the tension.

The town cut into view, its lights welcome beacons in the darkness. Bernard had nodded at the spiraling tower of the church that stood above all the other buildings, signifying he'd like to be dropped off there.

"Thanks for the kindness, boys," Bernard said as he picked up his briefcase and stepped out of the van. A crow screamed, it's caw bouncing throughout the town as it perched on the roof of the church. A few more crows fluttered towards it, and then more, and more, until the roof was covered with them. They all screamed, it was harsh and grating, their obsidian feathers ruffled and their eyes shining. Bernard shook his had, his eyes filled with pity as he gazed at the birds. "Their cries bring a terrible omen."


	6. DREAD

THE HOUSE WAS SEEPED IN SILENCE. Bucky sat on an opulent couch, his legs crossed. Clint was fast asleep beside him, muttering in his sleep, a hand draped over the couch to rest in an empty pizza box. Thor's body was stoic, spread across the floor as he snored softly on the moss green rug. Empty beer cans stood upright, circling his head.

It was a fervent, joyous homecoming. Bucky had worried that the thick tension that snaked around Tony and Steve would form a wall. To his surprise, the two lost friends had pulled each other into a deep hug. It conveyed their emotions better than words could have.

The reunion sparked a light of revelry. Food was devoured, drinks were spilled, and their voices grew into shrill, but happy, echoes. It had been so long since Bucky had felt such welcome, such joy. He did not realize how much he missed the feeling of having everyone together, not until everyone had fallen asleep and he was left alone. His mind piqued, and in the quiet, did his heart swell, at the realization of how much he loved his friends, and they him.

Shifting his weight, Bucky slowly stretched off the couch. Wood shrieked under his foot and Bucky stilled. On the opposite couch, Bruce stirred in his sleep beside Steve, before quieting down. Like a ghost, Bucky drifted across the floor, his steps light and quick. He could always hold his alcohol better than his friends, leaving him their guardian when their energy was drained into the early hours.

Natasha had retired early for the night. She chose one of the many rooms upstairs, and retreated to sleep off her sickness. Tony had retired a few hours after her, having not tasted a sip of drink to Bucky's surprise and approval. He knew his friend was trying hard, and he knew they didn't make it easy on him. Curious on their well being, Bucky strode down a long hall pinned with pictures that could cover a year's worth of rent. He took the stairs two at a time and when he met them.

As Bucky ascended, he noticed a drop in the temperature. It was gradual. The closer he came to the second floor, the more chilled he became. He stood on the final step, eyes straining to adjust. It was a smothering darkness. Had Tony switched off the lights? Hesitantly, he stepped off the stairs and into the hall. He was shivering now, the cold nearly unbearable.

It was like being blind. Bucky took a few steps, praying he would not trip over furniture or walk into a wall. Moonlight, seemingly from a nearby window, cut through the air above him. It was the only light in the darkness, though it illuminated nothing. His eyes fixed to the ground. Grass was being crushed by his steps. The wooden floors were gone.

Bucky was alarmed. Maybe he was wrong about his alcohol intolerance. Had he in a drunken state somehow wandered outside? It was windy, too. A wind carried the cold that lashed his skin. He wanted to turn back and retreat, but the staircase was gone. Panicked, he turned around in his spot over and over. Brown strands of his hair were being forced into his eyes as the howl of the wind grew agitated.

Through his panic, Bucky looked up. The moon judged him, high in the ink filled sky, behind billowing clouds filled with bane. Below it he could see where the ground finished and nothing began. The cliff was jagged, cracked and whipped by the wind, forced to grow under the moon's order. A stone trickled off, the sound of it striking rock as it descended was never-ending, only stopping when it was out of earshot.

No, no, no. I can't be back here.

He had only been trapped in his dreams. Bucky had tried so hard to stop them, to fight them. It was what had made him shut away, risk his life daily, withdraw from everyone. He had gone months without the dream. He thought he was free of it.

This time was different. He was not asleep. He could move, even if he was not the one moving his limbs. Pulled by unseen strings, Bucky was forced to take small steps towards the cliff. Bile filled every part of his being. He did not want to look down. Each time he would be frozen in stone, the cliff edge moving towards him on its own. Each time he would wake up before he could peer down.

Stop, stop, please, stop.

The light of the moon grew brighter as Bucky got closer to the edge. His feet scraped across dirt as he tried to fight his own will. Suddenly, he was at the edge. His heart was pounding against his chest, fearful and pleading.

He heard it before he could see it. The slow, scraping against rock was like a knife in his ear. Bucky was hysterical. A storm was wreaking havoc inside him, and he could do nothing to save himself. All he could do was wait.

Copper flooded his nose and forced its way into his lungs. The smell was overpowering, like inhaling fresh blood and drowning in it.

The scraping grew louder, and Bucky finally saw it. It was wrapped in tattered and dirtied rags, its jaw resting against its hollowed neck. Its head rocked to the side, and it held a limb of crushed bone and torn tissue towards his ankle.

Crash.

Bucky bolted back, freed from his invisible prison at the noise of wood splintering. It wailed, its grip loosening. It fell back, a wretched cry bouncing off the mountain. Darkness snapped at its falling figure, until Bucky could no longer see it.

The moon melted, like paint dripping on a canvas, as did the ground beneath him and the stretch off nothing around him. The white walls of the house, its oak floors, and bay windows pushed into Bucky's vision. He was standing outside his bedroom door, a dim orange light from a nearby lamp cascading on him.

His legs buckled beneath his weight, and Bucky was on the floor gasping for air. His mind was flooded with explanations: sleepwalking, hallucination – yet he knew, he didn't know how, that none of those reasons were true. He could still feel the cold lingering on his skin.

Another crash cracked through the night's silence. This time it sounded like the breaking and pulling of a bush. Forcing his torment aside, Bucky stood up and carried himself to a nearby window. The yard was flooded in light; Tony had ensured this. In the shadow of a twisted tree, Martin stood, leering up at Bucky. He winked, waved, and then turned and walked away until his figure was enveloped by the trees.

Before Bucky could react to the emotions of anger and fear swirling in him, a cry bounced around the house. It sounded like a baby being murdered. Though to Bucky's trained ears, he knew this not to be true. Near the front door, a cat cried loudly, just like the ones in the alley outside Bucky's flat. He could hear it scratching at the door, its cry grew louder and louder until nothing.

Like Martin, it vanished into the night.

After peering into Natasha and Tony's rooms, and seeing their peaceful slumber, Bucky ran downstairs. Each door and window was checked and locked. He then brewed a pot of coffee and set it down on the kitchen table. It was bitter and scalding, but Bucky forced a cup of it down his throat.

With a kitchen knife gripped tightly in his hand, Bucky sat and listened, filled with dread. His eyes were fixed on a window, waiting and watching. He did this until the sun soared into the sky and his friends stirred awake, but even then, he did not feel safe.


	7. CONFLICT

THE SNORING WAS UNBEARABLE. Bruce Banner's eyes fluttered open as Thor's guttural snores grew louder and louder. His fingers tightened around the seams of a beige cushion as he sat up. Burying his head into it, Bruce stood up from his sleeping spot, and stepped over the sleeping figure of his friend.

It was morning. He could hear the sweet calls of birds outside, and soft light oozed through the windows and warmed his skin. Stretching his stiff neck from side to side, Bruce lumbered out of the lounge and into the kitchen, following the heady scent of freshly brewed coffee. He was never a morning person. Coffee pried the grip of sleep from his eyes and shoulders, and it soothed his nerves to make the day ahead more bearable.

A snore slithered into the hall as Bruce approached the kitchen entrance. He frowned, rubbing his eyes fervently. He just wanted to sip coffee in some peace and quiet. Popping his head into the kitchen, Bruce's honey brown eyes locked onto the sleeping figure of Bucky. One hand limp at his side, the other hand gripped the handle of the coffee pot; Bucky was asleep with his face planted firmly on the surface of the wooden table, his hair a knotted curtain on his face.

Bruce never liked to admit it, but their friend group had its own smaller groups within it. For the most part, Bruce got along with everyone. He had his own special bond with Clint, Natasha was always there for him, he was closer to Thor than anyone else, and he and Tony were ready to take on the world as mad scientists. The only person that evaded him was Bucky. It wasn't that they weren't friends, they were. But it was only by association. Casual conversations here and there, Bruce never felt like he knew Bucky well enough.

Quietly, Bruce edged himself towards Bucky's sleeping form. He was determined. He wanted the coffee pot, and he was going to have it. With the precision and pace of a surgeon, Bruce's fingers slowly curled around the top of the pot, his other hand light on the back of Bucky's wrist. He pulled; Bucky grumbled and pulled the pot closer. Bruce tried again, and Bucky's eyes flew open, a confused groan tumbling from his lips. Something flew to the floor with a sharp clang, Bucky's chair skidded back, shock striking his face.

"Sorry, I just wanted the coffee pot," Bruce said with a flush to his cheeks as he pulled the pot towards him and took a few steps back. "I didn't mean to wake you up."

Bucky nodded, his once heavy breathing more even as he looked around. He bent down and picked up a knife, to which Bruce raised a skeptical eyebrow, curious and concerned.

"Didn't sleep well?"

"Something like that," Bucky replied and placed the knife back onto the table. Are the others up yet?"

"No," Bruce replied. They stood together in uncomfortable silence, the heat from the coffee seeping passed Bruce's oversized sweater and onto his chest. "Do you maybe –"

"Don't mind me," Bucky cut in quickly and slid back into the chair. He scratched the back of his head and gestured to the opposite chair. "I mean, have some coffee, in fact I think I'll have another cup."

Bruce nodded thankfully and took a seat. Pouring two cups of coffee, one black for Bucky, and one with cream and extra sugar for himself, he leaned back into his chair and took a sip. A content sigh drifted out of his mouth as his taste buds celebrated the bitter sweet flavor, and his body lapped up the buzz of it.

Minutes crept by and Bruce decided to glance away from the window holding a lush landscape, and back to Bucky who was studying his coffee. This was his chance to finally set things straight with the aloof man, but Bruce's mind grew blank when he tried to formulate questions or topics of conversations.

"Aw, coffee."

Clint came waddling into the kitchen, his hair slicked to his forehead, one eye closed, the other barely open. Sauce and cheese from pizza the previous night clung to his shirt as pulled out a chair and tumbled into it, barely recognizing his two friends.

Bruce sent out a silent prayer of thanks that the situation was cut short. He stood up and rummaged around the kitchen for another mug. "Like always, Clint?"

"You bet," Clint mumbled, planting his elbows onto the table and fixing Bucky with a soured look. "You look like shit."

Bucky rolled his eyes, though a grin tugged his lips upwards. "That's rich coming from you."

"Hm, all I remember from last night is Thor bringing out the beer," Clint said as he accepted the cup from Bruce and took a sip. He closed his eyes. "It's all a colorful blur from that point on."

"I'm so glad I didn't drink, because I got to see you be a dumbass," Bucky snickered into his cup. "More than usual."

Bruce rubbed his temples. He didn't drink much, but his stomach was still irritated from the alcohol – queasy and sore. "I remember you getting onto the dining table at one point."

"No, that was Thor," Bucky corrected, "him and Steve got into some argument over something stupid, so Thor thought jumping onto the table was the only way to make his point."

In one long gulp, Clint emptied out his cup and carelessly plopped it onto the table. "Barnes, I swear to God, if you tell anyone about our drunken escapades."

"Your threats are weak, Barton," Bucky drawled. "I have so much shit to blackmail you with."

Bruce's shoulders relaxed, the tension from earlier drained away as he found comfort in the easy going conversation. "I still remember that one time you and Matt–"

"O–kay, enough, enough." Clint pulled his hands up in defense, chuckling softly. "I'm trying to forget that time."

"It's forever burned in our memories," Bucky remarked, somewhat disgustedly by the curl of his lips and squint of his eyes.

"Heh, sorry." Clint rubbed his shoulder and leaned back on his chair. "Hey, should we make breakfast for everyone before they wake up?"

"Yeah! I'm sure Tony would appreciate it," Bruce nodded, eager to make the trip something good for his friend.

"Before we do that, can I speak to you privately, Clint?" Bucky asked, the enthusiasm slipping from his eyes. He stood to his full height and shifted on his feet, waiting for Clint's answer.

Bruce's heart dipped. Of course he wasn't important enough to share anything with.

Clint must have noticed the defeated expression because he slid a hand behind Bruce's chair and fixed Bucky with a smile. "I'm sure Bruce won't make a big deal about anything. I mean c'mon, we haven't seen you in two years man, what could be such a big secret? We're all friends here."

"Right, we are" the words felt empty coming from Bucky's mouth. He glanced up at the ceiling. The sound of running water could be heard, and Bruce summed it coming from Tony's room. "Let's move outside for this."

Bruce and Clint shared a quizzical look with each other before getting up and following Bucky's stiff movements. They passed the lounge, where Thor and Steve were still fast asleep, and stepped into the warm summer light outside.

Clint stretched and closed his eyes, basking in the light like a cat. "So, what's up?"

Bucky's eyes skittered back and forth from the woods to Bruce and Clint. His mouth opened to speak, but instead he exhaled and ran a hand through his hair. "I met this girl, Theresa, real sweet. She had an ex problem, wanted me to sort it out, so I did."

"Uh huh," Bruce nodded slowly to each word, patiently waiting for him to elaborate.

"The ex – Martin – didn't take too kindly too my uh, words, and he followed me here. To Blackwood." Bucky swallowed, his fingers curling into fists. "He threatened me, you guys too. Shit, he was here last night too."

Bruce's eyes widened. A cold grip squeezed his chest as fear seeped into him. "Here? What did he say?"

"Nothing, he ran off before I could do anything."

"Jesus, Bucky. You didn't think to mention this to us before?"

Bucky folded his arms across his chest and took a step back. "I didn't want to raise any alarm; you know how important this is for Tony."

Indignantly, Bruce let out a bitter chuckle. "You don't get to pull that card. You went off grid for two years. You weren't here for him."

"I was trying to protect all of you," Bucky snapped, annoyance shining in his eyes. "I knew I shouldn't have told you."

"Wait, Bruce is right." Clint's face was blank; his nostrils lightly flared betraying how he truly felt. "What the hell, Barnes? Some psycho is running around out here and you wait till now to tell us? Fuck, man. Tasha is with us. Tony's still dealing with the loss of his parents. We haven't been the same since that night, and now when we're finally back together?"

"I was going to tell you, yesterday. But – look, we were having so much fun, I missed that feeling. I didn't want to ruin it," Bucky defended. He rubbed his face harshly. "I can fix this. I saw the police department yesterday, and I'm going down there today but I need you to cover for me. No one can know, especially Steve."

Clint's lips twitched upwards into a disbelieving smile. "You can't do this. You can't keep running off and taking the whole world on."

"Are you not listening to me?"

"I am but would it have killed you to reach out?" Clint snapped, his face contorting angrily. "I had to hear from Steve if you were alright. I didn't know where you were, if you were even alive or dead in some ditch somewhere. You just vanished from our lives."

Bruce knew this outburst was inevitable. Everything was just too much. They had never really moved on from the fracture, the sudden explosion that tore at their friendships. The trip wasn't just for Tony, it was for all of them.

"I couldn't – I had something going on." Bucky's voice was quiet now, his posture defeated and caving in on itself as if he were shielding himself. "I just needed to be away. That day messed with us all."

At his words, the match was lit and anger ignited inside Bruce's chest like a wildfire, boiling his blood and scorching his limbs. "You weren't there for the funeral. You didn't call, or text. He waited for you, you know." A sound echoed from the house and Bruce stilled, before saying in a hushed voice, "What could have been more important that you couldn't support him through the worst day of his life?"

"We didn't even know how to reach out to you, to invite you for this trip. Just pass a message to Steve and hope he relays it," Clint added, his voice deep and raw, "You left us. We lost Tony, and we lost you, too."

"I'm sorry," Bucky whimpered out the words, his voice carrying such pain that Bruce almost wanted to set aside his anger and comfort him. "I broke, I don't know. I just needed to get away. I hated it, but Clint you have to believe me, I wouldn't have left unless I needed to."

Clint looked away, his head held up high as he took in deep breaths. Bruce stumbled back, needing to calm himself. He couldn't look at Bucky. He didn't have the same relationship with him that Clint did. He wasn't as forgiving. He was bitter and begrudging. He never wanted all the emotions to boil to the surface, but they did, and it was too much.

"Look, can we please just set this aside for a minute, and agree that Martin is more important in dealing with?"

"You report him to the police, today," Clint's words tumbled out in quick bursts. "If he's not taken cared of then we're telling the rest of the group tomorrow. Bruce?"

Bruce nodded curtly, his eyes still not meeting Bucky.

"Thank you, I owe you both. I'll need an excuse to head down to town without anyone."

"I have something in mind." Clint shuffled towards Bruce and slung a heavy arm around his shoulders. "Ready for some ghost hunting?"

Bruce hesitated. He could sense the false enthusiasm coming from Clint's words. Under other circumstances, the premise of their old adventures would've excited them both. Now it was to calm their thoughts. "Anything to get my mind off this."


End file.
